


Mac and Dennis Watch the Super Bowl

by glennjaminhow



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Caretaking, Fluff, Influenza, M/M, Sick Character, Soft Boys, Vomiting, based on glenno's instagram post
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 02:23:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17654234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glennjaminhow/pseuds/glennjaminhow
Summary: Dennis is sick with the flu on Super Bowl Sunday. Mac takes care of him.





	Mac and Dennis Watch the Super Bowl

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick, shameless sick fic because I couldn't not write one after seeing Glenno's post. Hopefully he feels better soon, but I am unashamed because sick fics are my shit.

_Super Bowl Sunday 2019_  
_Philadelphia, PA_  
_3:20 PM_

The Eagles aren’t in the Super Bowl this year.

It really blows because, of course, Dennis was in Dakota (North or West, he thinks, but he can’t bring himself to remember) the year the Eagles dominated. They were there, the whole gang minus Dennis and Charlie, and Mac looks back on it being a mostly not fun experience. Yeah, sure, the Birds won, which was obviously epic, but nothing was going right, the gang was all over the place, and Mac found himself wanting to just strangle everyone and move on, but he never did because he was scared and angry and had to clean up mess after mess, catastrophe after catastrophe, Dee’s nasty eye gunk tissue after nasty eye gunk tissue. It sucked ass.

But now Dennis is back in Philly, and things are different. Bad for a while. Real bad. Like Mac finding Dennis crying and cutting bad on an almost nightly basis bad. It’s better now that Dennis manned the fuck up and admitted he is in love with Mac. Dennis is still Dennis, a.k.a. Dennis is a Bastard Man, so he’s a dick-ish prick that Mac can't help but adore. It almost doesn’t matter what they’ve gone through in the past because Dennis is sometimes the big spoon on Mac’s bad days. Dennis cooks daily, even if he doesn’t eat it himself, because he wants Mac’s belly to be full. Dennis goes to weekly therapy and takes his meds without some of the bitchy ass whining.

Also, Dennis is a really great power bottom.

He would totally bang him right now. But Dennis’ flu is trying to kill him, apparently, so that’s off the table.

Mac clicks the door to the apartment closed, shedding his jacket and toeing off his shoes. He settles the laundry duffle on the Kleenex covered couch and plucks a blanket from the top of newly cleaned t-shirts and hoodies and pajama pants. Really, Mac still has a shit ton of sicky shit to wash, but he went for the basics plus three or four blankets that Dennis has been barfing on, wearing as a cape, sneezing in, and sweating through. This one is Dennis’ favorite, - it’s blue, Dennis’ favorite color - so Mac brings it into their bedroom before anything else.

Dennis is laying against a mountain of plushy pillows, his mouth parted slightly so he can breathe to, you know, stay alive and stuff, and his white t-shirt stands out, like, a lot against his pale, sweaty skin. He stares blankly at the TV, set to pre-game of course because Super Bowl, and briefly glances over once he sees Mac, but then he kinda decides that’s too much, so his eyes droop closed. He’s on the verge of falling asleep when Mac gently lays the fresh from the dryer blanket over his body.

“It’s time for more meds, Den,” Mac says softly, looking at the clock on the wall to confirm it. He pours out a dose of NyQuil from the sick station he’s got going on on his bedside table and hands it to Dennis, who looks at it like Mac’s poisoned it and closes his eyes. “C’mon, babe. You can sleep as soon as you take this.” He sounds like a parent sing-songing to his five year old son, but, in his defense, Dennis is a mega baby, so it’s probably like that to anyone who listens.

Dennis coughs, then sneezes, and then coughs again. He makes no efforts to do as he’s told.

“Please?” Mac whispers. “For me?”

Mac smiles when Dennis widens his mouth more bigger; Dennis gulps down the gross meds without opening his eyes.

Dennis drifts off with his head lulled to the side, chin dipping toward his chest. Mac puts a cold compress on his hot forehead before trekking out to the living room to disinfect the shit outta this place.

 

* * *

 

_3:55 PM_

Mac is about halfway through ridding their kitchen counter from toxins that, this time, don’t include apple skins when he hears it. It’s a quick, harsh coughing fit, followed by bare feet on hardwood floor. Mac yanks at the yellow gloves that engulf his hands clumsily as he practically sprints into the bathroom, only to find what he’s been afraid of the whole time. Dennis is on his knees in front of the toilet. Mac can handle lots of things, practically all things, but puking isn’t one of them. He takes shallow breaths, nausea building in his own stomach, as he kneels beside Dennis, placing a hand on his heaving back and rubbing up and down his spine.

“Shh… Shh… You’re alright, Den,” Mac coaxes as Dennis hacks up nothing more than yellow bile and struggles to get in any air. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

Mac is there with open arms that Dennis hurdles himself into the moment he’s done barfing, laying his head on Mac’s chest. Dennis’ shivers are enough to cause earthquakes, and Mac wonders for a second if they’re near a fault line. Isn’t that what they’re called? Like what Los Angeles has? He and Dennis watched a documentary on earthquakes and tornadoes and junk last week when they were both high as shit after eating two pot brownies each, but he isn’t sure how much he actually remembers because pot brownies are the devil’s lettuce, after all.

They sit on the bathroom floor for a while. Dennis whines when Mac gets up. But Dennis doesn’t need to be sleeping on the floor in sweaty pajamas and unbrushed teeth. Mac squeezes toothpaste on the toothbrush and almost hands it to Dennis before he doesn’t. He’s shaking way too hard. Mac carefully does it for him. They’ve brushed each other’s teeth before, but neither of them are very good at it, and that’s when they’re drunk. But Mac is mostly sober, and he’s trying his best not to make Dennis’ gums bleed or jab him in the Adam’s apple or any of that other shit.

Dennis spits into the murky toilet water. Mac flushes.

“Alright, I know you don’t wanna do this, but I think you should shower,” he says quietly. “It’ll open your sinuses more better.”

“Don’t think I can…” Dennis mumbles. He lays his head on the closed toilet lid. Gross. This is why he needs a shower.

“I’ll help, Den. You’ll feel better once you get cleaned up.”

Mac gets some new pajamas, turns on the water, and strips Dennis away from the t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Dennis starts crying the moment he’s in the water, blubbering so hard he hunches over and vomits again a few seconds later. Mac immediately hops in with him, clothes and all, and cradles Dennis against him. He places soft kisses in damp, curly hair. He rubs his fingers along Dennis’ sides. He somehow manages to wriggle out of his drenched clothes with Dennis sobbing and shaking. Mac whispers about anything and nothing, just trying to keep him calm. Dennis hides his face in Mac’s neck. Mac wraps his arms around his waist.

He kneads the knotted muscles in Dennis’ back for a while before the water goes from scalding hot the way Dennis loves it to only just warm. The temperature change makes the shivering cries return full force, and Dennis is so shocked by it that he clings so hard to Mac that Mac’s positive Dennis wants him to swallow him whole and become part of Mac’s own skin. Mac washes Dennis’ hair and body, trying to ignore the continuous shutters because they just make Mac want to hold him tighter, to cuddle him more, to smother him with warmth because he needs it.

Mac dries him off with super speed like Dash from The Incredibles, which, yeah, is something else they watched on that pot brownie filled day. Dennis struggles to stay awake, cheeks red and eyes puffy, as Mac gets him bundled in his Eagles sweater because it’s still the Super Bowl and flannel pajama pants because the heat will be good for Dennis right now. He quickly brushes Dennis’ towel dried hair, but it’s only since he knows he’ll never hear the end of it if Dennis wakes up with tangles. How a man with short hair gets tangles is beyond him, but this is Dennis, and Dennis is still Dennis, whether the flu is trying to kill him or not.

The moment Dennis is safe in bed, Mac puts on sweats and a t-shirt before settling down by Dennis, spooning up behind him and slinging an arm around his waist.

 

* * *

 

_5:10 PM_

His ringtone of Dennis singing Psycho Killer cuts through the silence 20 minutes before kickoff. Mac’s half-awake and half-asleep at the same time, groggily blinking as he fishes blindly for his phone on the nightstand. Dennis doesn’t stir from where he’s pressed his back into Mac’s front and keeps snoring. Mac is so beyond thankful for that because, if anything, sleep is the one thing that’ll make Dennis feel better, especially since he’s been waking up every couple hours to blow his nose or take a slurp of water or go piss because of how much water Mac is making him drink.

“What?” he whispers angrily, voice sounding like fireworks shooting off into the night.

“You gotta bring the chips from the Hamburger Store.” Charlie. Of course it’s Charlie. “Don’t forget about the chips.”

Mac rolls his eyes and feels the anger eat at his gut. “What’re you talking about, dude? I already told you that -”

“Yeah yeah yeah. You said a buncha words. It’s still your job to bring chips to Paddy’s though. Super Bowl shit, y’know?”

Dennis scratches his cheek and coughs wetly. Son of a bitch. “We’re not coming. I told the whole gang that yesterday. You were on the phone too.”

“Mac!” Charlie screeches shrilly, and Dennis’ eyes pop open. “That’s not f-”

But he hangs up before he can hear the rest. Charlie’s an idiot. They’re all idiots.

“Sorry, Den,” Mac says, kissing Dennis’ neck and nestling against him. “Go back to sleep.”

Dennis nods, smacks his dry, chapped lips, and pulls at Mac’s arm until it’s right where he wants it. He's snoring loudly moments later.

 

* * *

 

_6:45 PM_

Dennis is using him as a pillow.

It’s something they’ve always done in the privacy of their own apartment. Mac lays on Dennis; Dennis lays on Mac. It’s just the way it’s always been. Mac can only hope this will never change because the closeness to Dennis makes him dizzy and crave his touches even more. And, even though Dennis is, like, disgustingly sick, he can’t imagine spending Super Bowl Sunday any other way than getting comfy and peppering kisses on Dennis’ forehead whenever he can.

“How’s it goin’ down there, Den?” Mac asks.

Because Dennis’ face is totally pressed against Mac’s crotch, and Mac loves every second of it.

Dennis hacks wetly. “Chest hurts…” he murmurs.

Mac rubs his shoulder and coaxes him into a semi-sitting position, propped up against a bajillion pillows. “Relax, babe. It’s fine. I’m just gonna get you something to eat while you’re awake.”

“Nooo…” Dennis whines like’s four instead of 42. “‘m not even hungry…”

Mac kisses his ear. “Too bad. You’ll feel worse if you don’t. I’ll be right back.”

Luckily, he’s already prepared for this. He made chicken noodle soup last night while Dennis tossed and turned in the couch, tissue stuffed up both nostrils and alternating between too hot and too cold. He fell asleep while holding an unbelievably cranky, uncomfortable Dennis and only woke up to put the soup in the fridge. Mac would heat it back up on the stove, but that means Dennis will probably drift off, and then Mac will have to deal with the crankiness all over again. He loves Dennis, but, damn, can that guy be moody. He opts for the microwave instead.

Dennis shakes his head as soon as he spies the soup and blue Gatorade.

“I will hand feed you if I have to, Den,” Mac states.

“Ugh… No. Can’t I eat later? ‘m watchin’ the Super Bowl, Mac.”

Mac squints at the small TV. The Pats and Rams are in the second quarter. Pats are up 3-0.

But he doubts Dennis is paying attention to any of that. Dennis doesn’t even like football much unless the Birds are playing, but, nope, not this year.

Mac sits down on the bed. “Nope. You need more fluids and nourishment. You haven’t eaten in days.”

“That’s because I’m sick,” Dennis whines. He tries to fake cough, but it turns into a real one. Mac rolls his eyes and rubs Dennis’ chest.

Dennis spouts more excuses like he’s overflowing with them. But what he’s actually overflowing with is flu germs, and Mac wants to eliminate some of those if possible. Dennis seems to be feeling more better right now. Whining like this and actually talking is always a good sign when it comes to a sick Dennis. He still looks like shit, though, and is running a fever, so this is necessary. Mac spoons chicken noodle soup into Dennis’ mouth. Dennis looks like he wants to spit it up at first, but then he relaxes into the idea of eating and lets Mac keep feeding him.

“Good job, Den,” he says once he’s eaten three-fourths of the bowl.

Dennis flips him the bird before scooting down until his head’s in Mac’s lap again, picking up right where he left off.

 

* * *

 

_7:40 PM_

“MAC!”

He jolts, his eyes instantly executing an ocular putdown even though the only light in their room comes from the Super Bowl playing on the TV.

“Mac… Mac… Please…. Please, Mac…” Dennis whimpers, thrashing around in the bed. Mac sits up, straddles Dennis’ waist, and places his hands on Dennis’ shoulders, steadying him. Grounding him. It’s a new system they’ve developed over the last few months. It keeps Mac in control of Dennis’ nightmares and helps keep Dennis present and safe. “Mac.”

He wipes the fallen tears from Dennis’ warm cheeks with his thumb. “Wake up, Den. I’m okay. I’m right here.”

Dennis clenches on to a wad of Mac’s shirt. His eyes pop open, but Mac can tell Dennis isn’t really in there right now. He’s burning up and coughing every few seconds, and, shit, he needs to calm him down.

“Come back to me, babe. Everything’s alright. I’m safe. You’re safe.”

Dennis’ eyes keep clouding with tears. His baby blues are so bloodshot, and he must’ve popped a blood vessel earlier because they look even worse than they did earlier. Poor dude. Mac listens to Dennis’ rapid, trembling breaths and counts slowly out loud sooth him. He makes it all the way to 97 before Dennis’ tears are gone, before he’s breathing more better, before he’s no longer choking on his own lungs.

“I don’t feel good, Mac,” he slurs. He still has Mac’s shirt in his loose grasp.

Mac leans in and kisses his cheek. “I know, Den. I know.”

 

* * *

 

_8:15 PM_

“I’m cold…” Dennis grumbles, pulling the comforter plus the four extra blankets Mac just washed over his shoulders.

Mac takes his eyes off the TV. It’s a boring ass game anyway. Woulda been much better with the Birds playing instead. “Jesus Christ, Den. You’re a mess.” But Mac tugs him closer regardless. Dennis’ teeth chatter in his ear as Mac rubs his hands up and down Dennis’ arms, side, and back to try to make him more warmer. He drapes yet another quilt over the two of them, and Dennis hides his cold, snotty nose in Mac’s neck.

Dennis hums and settles down.

“Okay?” Mac asks quietly, carding his fingers through Dennis’ hair.

Dennis nods. “Mmhmm…”

 

* * *

 

 

_9:35 PM_

“Cherry?” Dennis rasps when he notes the cup in Mac’s hand.

Mac hides his smile. Dennis’ hair is a mess, one side glued down with sweat and the other sticking up wildly, and Mac’s old Eagle’s sweater is hanging all the way off his right shoulder. “I know you like grape more better, but you’re gonna have to suck it up til I get another chance to go shopping.” They’re running low on flu supplies. He’ll get Dee to come over tomorrow to cover for him and watch Dennis so he doesn’t drown in his mucus.

Dennis frowns before downing the medicine, grimacing. “Asshole.”

“Hey, I’m just tryin’ to take care of your sick ass,” Mac tells him, laying down beside Dennis. He holds his left arm up a bit, and Dennis gets the idea right away, curling his face into Mac’s chest and snuggling against him. “You’re the one getting the flu on a national holiday.”

“The Super Bowl isn’t a national holiday,” Dennis says, spluttering; Mac rubs his back. “Especially not when the Pats are playing for the billionth time in a decade.”

Mac nods. “They are in the Super Bowl a lot, aren’t they?”

Dennis traces his finger over Mac’s bicep. He’s close to falling asleep again; Mac can tell. He knows Dennis like an open book.

“‘m sorry for not being here last year…” Dennis says. “Wish I coulda watched the Birds win with you.”

Mac kisses Dennis’ hair three times and then one more time for good measure. “You’re here now, Den. That’s all that matters.”

The Patriots win the Super Bowl 13 to 3, but they aren’t watching. Dennis drifts off quickly, snoring in Mac’s ear and drooling on his shirt.

“Love you, Den,” Mac whispers, kissing his curls again and letting slumber pull him under.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, hopefully that wasn't terrible. Thank you for reading! :)


End file.
